by Dima Zales
The doctor gently shakes my mom’s shoulder.
Nothing happens.
He shakes her less gently—still nothing.
Isis rolls her eyes and slaps my mom on the cheek. The others gasp, and one man moves to stop her. Dr. Xipil shakes his head in warning.
Mom doesn’t wake up.
I feel like I’m on the verge of a meltdown.
Isis grabs a cup of water from a nearby doctor’s assistant and splashes Mom in the face.
Still nothing.
“Maybe we wait for her to wake up naturally?” Dr. Xipil suggests.
Isis shrugs, so we all wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Each second that passes increases my anxiety. Unable to stand still, I pace around the room, nearly tripping over the doctor’s feet twice. “I’ll be back in a few,” he says after it happens for the third time, and disappears for the next hour.
When he finally reappears, Isis grips me by the shoulder. “I need to go. There’s not much more I can do. Sleeping is more your area of expertise.”
I inhale sharply. “But—”
She turns on her heel and exits.
Dr. Xipil regards me speculatively. “What did she mean about your expertise?”
I push back a frizzy curl with an unsteady hand. “I’m a dreamwalker. If Mom is really sleeping, theoretically I can go into her dreams.”
His eyes narrow. “So do it. Maybe you can wake her up from within.”
“I…” I cast a glance at Mom’s prone figure. Worry for her is like a worm eating me on the inside, but I can’t ignore the heavy weight of my promise. “I can’t,” I say bleakly. “She doesn’t want me in her dreams. Let’s just give her a chance to wake up.”
Dr. Xipil looks exasperated. “You stay here and wait then. Get me when she awakens.”
I can tell he wanted to say if she awakens.
He and the rest of the staff disappear to go about their business, and I take a seat on a low-slung couch near the bed, silently begging Mom to wake up. But she just keeps sleeping. An hour goes by, then another and another. Eventually, exhaustion overcomes me—my four-month sleep debt is still weighing on me—so I ask a nurse to keep an eye on Mom in my stead and close my eyes for a few minutes. I doubt I’ll actually fall asleep; I just need to rest for a little bit…
I wake up to Dr. Xipil’s voice and jackknife to my feet.
“Any progress?” I ask, frantically rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “How long have I—”
“Thirty-six hours asleep—ten for you—and not a single REM cycle,” he says. “I tried giving her stimulants, but it didn’t help. This might be a type of coma I’ve never heard of, one that can only happen when a healer is involved. Your powers may be the thing to try next.”
My breath catches in my throat. They’re going to make me do it. “Dr. Xipil, I don’t know if… I mean—”
“I’m sure your mother didn’t anticipate this situation when she said she doesn’t want you dreamwalking in her.”
My hands begin to tremble. Why is this so hard? I look at Mom’s serene face. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“If you don’t wake her up now, we’ll have to put the feeding tube back in.”
I swallow, staring at Mom, already seeing her with all those tubes poking out of her. Would she rather have that, really? If it were me, I’d want my daughter to do everything in her power to wake me. Maybe Dr. Xipil is right. There’s no way Mom could’ve anticipated this dilemma. It’s one thing to keep me out of her dreams when she’s dealing with depressive episodes; it’s another matter entirely when her life—or at least, her consciousness—is on the line.
I square my shoulders. Screw my promises. I’ll beg Mom’s forgiveness when she wakes. “I’ll do it,” I tell the doctor. “But since she’s not in REM sleep, you need to prepare to subdue me if I start acting weird. You remember that case about a dreamwalker killing people?”
Nodding solemnly, he leaves and comes back a few minutes later with a syringe and several burly security guys. They form a semicircle around me, hard faces reflecting equal parts curiosity and concern. I ignore them, mentally steeling myself to survive yet another subdream.
There’s never been a worthier reason to risk my sanity.
Stepping over to Mom’s bed, I place my hand on her cool, still forehead.
“See you soon,” I say softly, and taking a deep breath, I jump into her dreams.
THE END
Thank you for reading! I hope you’re loving Bailey’s story! Her adventures continue in Dream Hunter (The Bailey Spade Series: Book 2).
What was missing from my life? A crazy cult that worships the ancient god of nightmares, that’s what.
When I break my most sacred vow and invade my mom’s dreams, things get complicated, fast. With Valerian’s help, I’m on a quest to boost my powers and learn to forgive myself—all while saving my home world from complete annihilation at the hands of deranged cultists.
In other words, a regular Wednesday.
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Want to read my other books? You can check out:
The Sasha Urban Series - the fantastical urban fantasy series set in the same universe as Bailey Spade, where Felix and Ariel first appear
Mind Dimensions - the action-packed urban fantasy adventures of Darren, who can stop time and read minds
Upgrade - the thrilling sci-fi tale of Mike Cohen, whose new technology will transform our brains and the world
The Last Humans - the futuristic sci-fi/dystopian story of Theo, who lives in a world where nothing is as it seems
The Sorcery Code - the epic fantasy adventures of sorcerer Blaise and his creation, the beautiful and powerful Gala
And now, please turn the page for a sneak peek at Chapter 1 of Dream Hunter and an excerpt from The Girl Who Sees (Sasha Urban Series: Book 1).
Sneak Peek at Dream Hunter
I stand on the surface of a calm black ocean, with fiery, angry-looking skies above my head. Six humanoid figures are sprinting toward me, their strange feet making them look like they’re tiptoeing on the water. Their right index fingers sport sword-like claws, and they lack noses and eyes. In general, their heads are pretty lacking—no hair, no ears, just baby-smooth skin and a huge mouth in the middle of where the face would be. And if that weren’t creepy enough, the horror nearest me starts screeching like a cat in heat.
To my shock, I realize it’s saying something.
“You!” the creature is shrieking. “You’re not dead?”
I gape at it. “Why would I be? What are you? How do you know me?”
The creature slices at me with its sword-claw, and I duck to avoid losing my head.
“Stay still!” the monstrosity screeches. “If I slay you now, Master will be pleased.”
Yeah, right. An appendage-like growth extends from my wrist, turning into a furry sword in time to parry the next sword-claw strike. “What master?” I demand as I lunge and slash.
My opponent’s cleaved in half before it can answer.
A second creature reaches me, swinging its sword-claw. “Master hates you!” it screeches when I parry. “Your existence is a blight.”
I counterattack with my furry blade, burying it in my opponent’s chest. “Me, a blight?” I yank out the blade. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”
The time for talking about their master must be over. The next two attackers come at me with even greater violence. Their claws hack and slash without any strategy, making them easy prey for my furry blade.
The next two are more cautious. They circle me silently, looking for an opening.
I feint, then lop one’s head right off. The next oppo
nent ducks beneath my blade by crouching on the water. As I loom over it, it strikes out with its claw, stabbing me in the thigh.
I jump back, crying out in pain. The affected muscle burns agonizingly.
The monster goes for the kill, but I parry. With a screeching yell, it lunges again—and its claw pierces my shoulder.
Ignoring the dizzying wave of agony, I swing my blade and slice its head clean off.
I’m in a huge palatial lobby with reddish green walls and yellowish blue marble floors, the richly appetizing scent of manna filling my nostrils as impossibly shaped objects float in front of my eyes.
My dream palace. I made it.
Blood is still oozing from my thigh and shoulder. Pucking puck. That subdream was worse than others. If there’d been one more monster in there, I’d be foaming at the mouth and trying to kill everyone in the waking world. It’s a good thing I asked Mom’s doctor to prepare for that eventuality. If I’d emerged from my dreamwalking trance in a homicidal mood, he could’ve subdued me with the help of the burly security guys he brought in—or knocked me out with whatever’s in his syringe.
Well, the good thing is, none of that is necessary now, since I’m safely in the dream world. I exit my body, heal it, give myself a fiery hair makeover, and jump back into myself.
Pom shows up next to one of the impossible shapes. He’s a looft, a symbiotic creature permanently attached to my wrist who’s also my companion here in the dream world. The size of a large bird, with gargantuan lavender-colored eyes, triangular pointy ears, and fluffy fur that changes colors to match his emotions, he usually belongs in the dictionary next to the word “cute.”
Currently, though, he’s solid black and his ears are droopy. “I accidentally read your mind again,” he confesses guiltily. “You’re here to wake up Lidia, aren’t you?”
Reminded of my important mission, I take flight, heading for the tower of sleepers. “That’s right. Mom was stuck in non-REM sleep—hence the subdream we just experienced.”
He zooms around me, shuddering. “Scary.”
“For sure. But hey, you were a sword this time.” I demonstrate by recreating the weapon I just used. “Did you have any clue that was actually a dream?”
He turns an even darker black. “No. I was just living in the moment, not questioning being that sword—as weird as that sounds.”
“Same here. No clue I was dreaming.”
Pom circles around my head. “The creatures spoke this time.”
So they did. How weird. I think back to all the other subdreams I’ve experienced and the bizarre, terrifying creatures I’ve met in them. “Maybe they’ve always tried to speak,” I say. “But this time, they had mouths that let them be understood.”
Pom’s fur takes on a light orange hue. “Where do subdreams come from?”
I slow my flight. He’s raised a question I’ve pondered a lot, without ever coming up with a satisfactory answer. “I don’t know. I’ve nicknamed them subdreams because I think they tap deeper into the subconscious than regular dreams do.”
“Whose subconscious, yours or the dreamer’s?”
“Great question.” I conjure up the creatures from the subdream I experienced when I invaded Bernard’s non-REM sleep—the ones that look like oversized bacteria and viruses. “Theoretically, these could be my fears of contamination made flesh.”
Pom peers at them as I recreate the creatures I encountered in Gertrude’s subdream—tentacled giant naked mole rats riding warthog-spider hybrids. “Nothing about these riders fits that pattern,” I say, studying them, “so they might be something Gertrude dreamed up.”
Pom floats in front of my face. “So you think it was your mom who created the monsters we just defeated?”
“Could be. Though I don’t like the implications.”
He blinks at me.
“The monsters said their master hated me,” I explain. “If Mom created them, she’d be their master, right?” Reaching the glass-walled tower of sleepers, I locate the nook where Mom’s form resides now that I’ve forced her into REM sleep. “I know we had that fight before her accident,” I continue as I fly toward it, “but I hope she doesn’t really feel that my existence is a blight—whatever that means.”
Pom flies next to me. “You feel bad about that fight, don’t you?”
“Of course. I made Mom think I might invade her dreams, something she made me promise never to do. That’s why she got so upset and stormed out. Her accident wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for my big mouth.”
Pom turns gray, a color rare for him. “You didn’t know what would happen.”
“True.” I take a breath to suppress the heavy swell of emotions thinking about Mom’s accident always generates. “In any case, it doesn’t matter now. I am breaking my promise.”
“To save her life.”
“Yes.” Outside, in the waking world, Mom is in a strange coma-like sleep, one that neither Isis, a powerful healer, nor Dr. Xipil, a rare gnome doctor, could get her out of. The only thing left to try was for me to go into her dreams and wake her from within.
Hopefully she’ll understand and forgive me.
Entering her nook, I land next to the bed. To my surprise, there’s no trauma loop cloud above her head—something I always suspected I’d find if I dreamwalked in her. Before the accident, she’d displayed all the symptoms I’ve seen in my most troubled clients.
“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” Pom says sagely, landing behind me. “What’s more important is that you forgive yourself. From my experience, that’s harder.”
I turn to see if he’s kidding, but he’s still that depressing gray color. “What experience are you talking about? What did you ever need to forgive yourself for?”
His cute face twists into a miserable expression, and his ears droop. “I permanently attached myself to you without asking your permission.”
So he had. I certainly hadn’t expected to end up with a symbiont when I petted a mooft—a cow-like creature loofts normally live on—at a Gomorran zoo. But now I can’t imagine my life without him.
“Sweetie.” I snatch him up, bringing him up to my eye level. “I already told you, I wouldn’t want to take you off even if I could.”
The tips of his ears turn a light shade of purple. “You told me that when you thought you’d be executed. Now that you know you’ll live, do you still mean it?”
“We’re symbionts for life,” I say solemnly. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
The rest of Pom turns purple, and he grins. “We make a good pair of symbionts, don’t we?”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I kiss his furry forehead and set him down. “Now how about I do what I came here to do?”
We both look over at Mom. Her beautiful features appear so peaceful in her slumber.
“Do you want some privacy?” Pom asks.
“Please.” It’s been four months since Mom entered her coma. The chances that I’ll cry when we finally speak are pretty high, and seeing that might upset Pom.
He obligingly disappears.
I place my hand on Mom’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “If I could save you without breaking my promise, I would.”
Steeling myself, I dive into her dream.
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Sneak Peek at The Girl Who Sees (Sasha Urban Series: Book 1)
I’m an illusionist, not a psychic.
Going on TV is supposed to advance my career, but things go wrong.
Like vampires and zombies kind of wrong.
My name is Sasha Urban, and this is how I learned what I am.
“By day, Sasha works for the infamous Nero Gorin at his hedge fund,” Kacie says, reciting the intro I’ve prepared. The words reach me as if I’m in an underground bunker. “By night, she performs at the sumptuous, Zagat-rated—”
The sips of Sea Breeze churn painfully in my stomach. It’s going to be my turn to speak
in a couple of seconds.
The crowd looks at me menacingly.
The cliché of picturing them in their undies just makes me want to gag, so I picture them sleeping—which doesn’t work either.
Without Ariel’s medication, I might’ve run out screaming.
Scanning the audience again, I admit what should’ve been unsurprising: Mom didn’t come. When I sent her the invitation, I knew this was likely, but on some level, I must’ve still been holding out for her to show up. I only had one invite to give out, and I now wish I’d given it to someone else. Mom has never approved of my passion for “silly tricks,” as she puts it, probably because she’s worried that my income could fall drastically if I pursued magic as a career. And since she benefits from that income—
“Sasha?” Kacie repeats, her smile extending almost to her ears. “Welcome to my show, dear.”
I swallow and choke out, “Thanks for having me, Kacie.” If I hadn’t practiced it a million times, I would’ve messed up even this basic greeting. “I hope I can add a little mystery to everyone’s day.”
“I’m certainly intrigued.” Kacie looks from me to the camera and back. “I understand you’re going to predict the future today. Is that right, Sasha?”
Damn Darian. Why did he put me in this situation? Before he asked me not to end the show with a disclaimer, I had my act and speech perfectly planned out. Now I have to tread carefully and pick only the “safe” lines from the patter I’ve rehearsed so many times.
Kacie is looking at me expectantly, so I nod and plunge ahead, steadying my voice as I say, “My day job at the hedge fund requires me to predict how the market and individual investments might behave. I do so by absorbing a lot of financial and political data and using it to make my forecasts. As it turns out, I’m very good at this.”